


Parting is all we Know of Heaven

by Sword_Kallya



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: And makes really poor life choices, Angst with a Happy Ending, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Depression, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Dick Grayson is very depressed actually!!, Gen, Intrusive Thoughts, No one in this family knows how to communicate, POV Outsider, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28948953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sword_Kallya/pseuds/Sword_Kallya
Summary: My life closed twice before its close—It yet remains to seeIf Immortality unveilA third event to meSo huge, so hopeless to conceiveAs these that twice befell.Parting is all we know of heaven,And all we need of hell.– Emily DickinsonThree months after Batman returns from the timestream, Dick Grayson has disappeared.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Amy Rohrbach, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 40
Kudos: 215





	1. My life closed twice before its close-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy Rohrbach brings news to Wayne Manor.

Amy Rohrbach was livid.

She had learned that word from Dick Grayson. They had been on a stakeout, barely two years into his time on the force, when his nickname had still been "Rookie," because of the way he somehow managed to act like a fresh-out-of-the-Academy kid despite a year and a half on a regular beat of Bludhaven's worst streets. He'd been earning his name, narrating the lives of the people they were watching and had thrown the word out as the suspect had slammed her hands down onto a table, nearly knocking over a cheap vase of flowers. "Livid. I am _livid,_ Jacob!"

Rohrbach, a Bludhaven kid to her bones, had bombed the SAT twice, but she was fairly sure she'd seen that word on there somewhere. She scowled in an effort to cover her ignorance. "There's no way in hell that she would use a word like 'leevid,' Richie-rich."

Grayson had always been quick to pick up on what she wasn’t saying. “It’s another word for pissed off,” he’d told her, taking a gulp of shitty gas station coffee. “Jason taught it to me the last time I talked to him. He learned it from _Pride and Prejudice,_ I think.”

“Little nerd.” Rohrbach had taken a long drag from her own coffee, which was the same as Grayson’s with a quarter of the sugar in it. “Your _guardian_ adopt him yet?”

“ _Ex-_ guardian,” Grayson corrected with a scowl. “And yeah. B’s ordered the adoption papers.” His eyes had fixed on the rippling sheen of oil spilled in a puddle beneath one of Bludhaven’s many flickering streetlights. “Alfred thinks he’ll ask by the end of the month.”

Rohrbach had responded by roundly cussing out the entire family in every language she knew, including what little Romani she’d learned from Grayson. She’d ended the tirade with, “Except for Alfred, of course.” Grayson had laughed so hard he’d sprayed coffee out his nose. Rohrbach had privately been proud – getting Grayson to laugh had never been easy, despite how often he smiled.

And it had only gotten harder as the years went on.

Right. She was angry. Livid, even.

Rohrbach pulled her dented third-hand Toyota up to Wayne Manor’s enormous front gate. She could practically _smell_ how expensive the place was. It was hard to believe Grayson had grown up here, given how easily he took to the rough, cheap life of a Bludhaven police officer. The gate even had a freaking intercom, so whoever was handling the door could talk to visitors before buzzing them through.

Was the intercom button _polished?_ Rich people, _honestly._ Rohrbach shook her head and pressed it anyway, taking vindictive pleasure in the smudge of her fingerprint on the shiny silver plastic.

A very British voice answered. _Alfred Pennyworth,_ a detective’s trained memory supplied. Rohrbach had had a lot of reason to keep track of Grayson’s foster family. _Father/grandfather figure, butler, probably ex-mil. Grayson’s emergency contact on everything under the sun._ Rohrbach had met him several times, usually when Grayson was injured on duty and the man came to see him. “May I help you?”

“Detective Amy Rohrbach, Bludhaven Police Department.” She flashed her badge at a shiny black spot she was pretty sure was a camera. “I’m here to talk about Detective Grayson. Is… is Mr. Wayne in?”

A soft gasp came down the line. Rohrbach felt a little bad for playing with the old man’s emotions like that – from Grayson’s stories, Mr. Pennyworth was the only decent soul in the bizarre extended Wayne family – but if she started off with what she needed to stay, she’d never get in the door.

There was a soft _beep_ and the huge metal gate slid noiselessly out of the way. Rohrbach did her best not to stare. Nothing that size should be so quiet. She shook her head to clear it as Mr. Pennyworth kept speaking. “Please do come in, Detective. You may park in front of the main door.”

“Thank you.” Rohrbach had a feeling that a lack of manners wouldn’t win her any points here. She started up the car again and idly wondered how long the driveway was. She could barely see the whole of the manor from the front gate. She hung onto the thought, desperately trying to calm her racing heartbeat. She would only get one shot at this. She needed to _not screw it up._

Mr. Pennyworth met her at the door to the insanely large front hall. He somehow managed to get her coat and jacket off of her while she was staring at a massive chandelier that was probably the size of her car. Grayson had _broken_ one of those? And Wayne hadn’t murdered him?

“You’re in luck, Detective,” Mr. Pennyworth was saying. Rohrbach shook herself back to reality. _Focus, Amy, focus._ “The whole family is in today, for once. I believe they’ve gathered in the den. If you would follow me?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, of course.” Rohrbach wiped sweating palms on her sole pair of court-appearance slacks. Grayson had hemmed them for her once, a few years back, when she’d complained about having to spend the money to replace them.

 _Grayson._ Angry. Right.

Mr. Pennyworth announced her at the door like a character in one of those ridiculous period dramas. Amy supposed that was fair, given that he was basically a walking period drama character. “Detective Amy Rohrbach, of the Bludhaven Police Department.”

Almost a dozen gazes snapped up to stare at her. Rohrbach did her best not to shudder under the weight of them. This wasn’t made any easier by the fact that she could identify almost all of them, and how thoroughly they could ruin her life if they wanted to. Gordon, Grayson’s ex-girlfriend, ran digital security for all of Wayne Enterprises. Todd, the unofficially returned second son, had three concealed carry permits, mostly due to paranoia from his disappearance. Rohrbach had never gotten the details of that out of Grayson. And of course, Wayne himself. Probably the richest man on Earth.

Wayne stood to shake her hand. _Powerful_ hand, a detective’s mind noted, but the calluses didn’t match up with someone who carried a gun regularly. “Detective, good to meet you. What can we do for–”

That was apparently too much for the kids. “Is Dick okay?” Rohrbach couldn’t identify the voice. One of the girls? The one boy too young for his voice to drop yet?

But they were all waiting for her to answer. Rohrbach turned back to Wayne. Moment of truth. She sent up a silent prayer that she wouldn’t get stabbed for this.

“I don’t know, _Batman._ Is he?”


	2. It yet remains to see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who asked to find out what happens with Amy: I'm not sorry.

_Two months earlier._

It started with a picture.

The League of Assassins rarely bothered with Bludhaven. There just wasn’t enough high-profile crime for them to be interested. Not that there wasn’t _crime_ – Bludhaven had plenty of that; there just wasn’t enough money in any of it for the League to be hired.

Which is why seeing a large group of League elites in Bludhaven, led by someone Nightwing recognized, was fairly concerning.

Nightwing snapped a grainy picture of Prudence Wood spreading out the documents for whatever mission she was on. He fired it off to Red Robin with the caption "Want me to say hi?" and settled in for a stakeout. They seemed to be planning an assault or infiltration on somewhere fortified. Nightwing took notes while he waited for Red Robin to respond.

One hour and three major leg cramps later, Nightwing had no response from Red Robin and no more idea of who the League was after than when he’d started. He considered calling Red Hood or Robin, but Hood was still (rightfully) furious with him, and Robin would either be patrolling with Batman – _no_ – or sleeping. Black Bat was still in Hong Kong, Spoiler was taking time off for school, and given that Batman was still recovering from his trip through time, he needed Agent A and Oracle’s support.

Nightwing had handled Bludhaven alone for years, and barely six months as Batman with a consistent partner had apparently ruined his independence.

But those weren’t thoughts for while he was on patrol. Nightwing shook his head, trying to clear the dark thoughts from it. He could work on his feelings towards his family later. With a shrug to loosen up his muscles, he dropped soundlessly onto the roof of the opposing warehouse. He slid a window open, padded over to the raised walkway, and considered his options. There weren’t many places at ground level to listen in…

Eh, what the hell. Nightwing leapt into the rafters, working his way over until he was poised right above the table. He snapped a still of their papers – besides the fortified area, there were plans for some kind of office building? – and grinned mischievously as Prudence stood to lean over the table, gesturing wildly at some part of their plan. _Perfect._

Nightwing dropped straight into the now-open seat and smirked at the gasps from the various ninjas. Just to drive the point home, he crossed his legs and put his feet up on the table. "So! Who are we killing this week?"

The abrupt squeak of “Nightwing?” he got from one of the newer assassins was actually really gratifying.

Prudence, who had dealt with the one of the Bats before, didn’t do more than put a hand on one of her knives. “Nightwing. Nice of you to drop in, but did you have to give my rookies a bloody heart attack?”

“Hey, Pru!” At least, Nightwing hoped he’d remembered Red Robin’s nickname for his assassin friend correctly. “Red Robin says hi, by the way.” Or well, Dick was convinced that he would have if he hadn’t probably blocked his oldest brother’s number. Nightwing grinned even wider to cover the uncertainty. “And hey, nice pun!”

Prudence – Pru? Nightwing was going to just call her Pru – blinked rapidly, forehead furrowed as she clearly tried to figure out what she had said. “You – I – what–” He snickered as she smacked her forehead, her accidental pun hitting her. “You’re bloody infective, aren’t you?”

Nightwing clapped a hand to his chest with a gasp. _“Miss Wood!_ I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”

“If that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to you, either you’re the worst person ever or you need better friends. Either way there’s something sodding wrong with you,” Pru muttered. “And get your feet off the bloody table, were you raised in a barn?” She flicked the knife she still held at him, forcing him to yank his feet out of the way or lose one of them – and the easiest way to keep from getting hurt was to pull them off the table. Well played.

“Nice throw there, Pru,” Nightwing complimented her. “But you never answered my question. Who’re we killing this week? Just, you know, ‘cause we’re in Bludhaven, and half the city wants the other half dead, so it’s kinda hard for me to guess who hired you.”

That was, of course, when one of the more excitable ninjas decided to get rid of the hero threatening their mission. Nightwing flipped himself over the back of the flimsy folding chair, angling so he snapped one steel-shod booted heel up under their chin. The impact wasn’t hard enough to break anything, but it did knock them out cold and send them crashing into the cheap plastic card table, which promptly broke, dumping papers and weapons everywhere. “Oops,” he said cheerfully. “Sorry about your table, Pru.”

Pru sighed and waved the rest of her people back. “We were having a nice, calm chat before he decided to jump in, don’t be bloody stupid. We’re not ready to take on Nightwing.” She returned her gaze to Nightwing. _“Yet.”_

Nightwing met her threat with a smile. He probably _couldn’t_ take them all on right now, but there was no reason to let them know that. “Whatever you have to tell yourselves to sleep at night.”

“And we’re not even planning a mission in Bludhaven, bird boy, so you can go harass drug dealers or whatever it is you do with your time.” Pru deliberately turned her back to him – not really a gamble, given that he’d be jumped by at least three people if he made any aggressive moves. Still, the point was made – Pru didn’t really give a damn about Bludhaven’s hero, because she wasn’t intending to stay in Bludhaven for longer than her planning took.

Unfortunately, if they were in ‘Haven and not planning anything to happen in ‘Haven – “Oh, so you’re working up to something in Gotham then,” Nightwing said, purposefully casual to cover his mild panic. Ra’s rarely made any move against Gotham, all too aware that Batman was prepared to drop the entire might of the Justice League on his head at the slightest provocation. Any contract that got Ra’s to send people into Gotham had to have some serious money involved.

Or be personal. Which probably would mean they were going after one of the other Bats. And whatever Dick felt about his family, Nightwing would die before he let the others be hurt.

“So, who’s the target? Kane? Gordon? Won’t be Wayne,” – _lie_ – “not even Ra’s will tangle with the guy when he’s backing half the Justice League.”

“And if I were to tell you that we weren’t intending to kill anyone at all, _hero?”_ Pru snapped, throwing the words out as precisely as she’d thrown her knife.

Nightwing snorted “I’d tell you to pull the other one, it sings opera.” He leaned back against one of the cinderblock support pillars, watching the assassins carefully. He hadn’t been expecting Pru to outright _lie_ to him about their mission. He had figured that she’d just tell him to fuck off.

“Well, it’s the truth, take it or sodding leave it.”

“The fucking _League of Assassins_ has never done anything without murder involved in its existence.”

“Objectively untrue, but whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

“Well explain it to me then, _Prudence._ What are you planning to do if _not_ murder someone?”

To Dick’s honest surprise, she told him.

Nightwing’s first reaction was to grab one of his escrima sticks. _Hell no, no way._ But it _wasn’t_ murder, and if he didn’t get a handle on it now… “I’m in.”

For the first time, he’d caught Pru entirely flat-footed. “Wha…?”

“If someone doesn’t do something, it’ll just keep getting worse, right?” Nightwing set his jaw. This was going to be _hell._ “So, I’ll do something. I want in.”

Prudence met his gaze, holding it for a long, long moment. Whatever she saw, she must have liked it, because she finally nodded. “Get over here, then. We’ve work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who wanted to find out what happened to Dick: I'm not sorry for you, either.


	3. If Immortality unveil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy Rohrbach gets angry. Alfred cries.

_Present Day_

“An icepack, Detective?”

“That would be really appreciated, thanks,” Rohrbach said. She’d been tackled at some point in the several minutes of chaos after she’d thrown out her bombshell. Her back still ached, and so did her head where it had hit the coffee table as she ducked under a thrown knife. A _knife,_ not even a batarang or whatever they were called. Mr. Pennyworth had checked her for a concussion, which he apparently knew how to do. Having someone in house to do first aid made sense, but at this point they were using it as an excuse. Mr. Pennyworth was on her right pretty much at all times. On the other side, Damian – the only one of the Waynes she’d met before this debacle, and the one who had _thrown a knife at her,_ now had a _sword as tall as he was._ Blocking her in from the back was Jason maybe-dead Todd, who wasn’t even bothering to try to hide the Beretta in his shoulder holster anymore. Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, and Barbara Gordon had all taken seats – or in Gordon’s case, parked her wheelchair – where they were between Rohrbach and the exits. This left Wayne, the fucking Batman himself, sitting directly across from her.

Rohrbach was starting to regret maybe all of her life choices.

“So,” said Wayne, and yeah, that was definitely Batman’s growl instead of the voice he used on TV, “how much do you know?”

Rohrbach took the offered icepack and shoved it against the small of her back. “Batman,” she said, pointing at Wayne, then just went around the room. “Robin, Red Robin, Black Bat, Spoiler, Oracle, Agent A, Red Hood.” There was a rapid tapping sound from Drake’s direction that she thought was him probably taking notes. Good kid, she could see why Grayson liked him. “Grayson’s Nightwing. I could point you at a few of his caches… safehouses? … in ‘Haven.”

“What else.”

“Nothing.” Rohrbach flinched as, behind her, Todd fiddled with the slide of his handgun. “Grayson didn’t talk much about his… night job.” Had Wayne flinched at the sound of the slide catch as well? _Interesting._

“Any information on vigilantes outside of us?”

“At this point, I’m fairly certain that Wally West is a speedster? That’s the only thing that makes sense. Other than that…” Rohrbach took a moment to think. Grayson was a friendly guy. How many of the faces she saw in his apartment might spend their nights behind masks? “Other than that, I’ve got no clue.”

“Oracle, warn the Flashes,” Wayne ordered.

Gordon tugged a laptop out of a bag on the back of her wheelchair. “On it, boss man.”

Wayne turned that steel gaze back to Rohrbach. “How long have you known?”

Rohrbach winced. Nobody was going to like her answer to that one. “A decade?”

The only sound in the room was the clatter as Drake’s phone slipped from nerveless fingers.

“Elaborate,” Wayne ordered.

Rohrbach straightened instinctively, as if she were reporting to the sergeant. “He’d just made officer. I… you probably know more about what happened with Blockbuster than I do, but after… everything, he called me because I was the first person on his speed dial. He was still in shock, in what was left of the Nightwing suit. I got him home and patched up, and we just never talked about it again. He never bothered to hide when he was on the radio with other vigilantes after that, though. And if he was going to be gone for a while, he’d warn me so I could cover for him.” Rohrbach gathered her courage and glared Wayne straight in the eye. “So, if this is some Bat bullshit thing, I need you to _tell me,_ so I can tell his landlord to lay off.”

Wayne’s frown deepened, and he opened his mouth to snap at her–

And blinked once. Twice. Stared at her like she’d grown a third eye in the middle of the conversation. “What about his landlord?”

Rohrbach rolled her eyes. “ _Some_ body forgot to set up payment for his rent when he disappeared. I didn’t even know he’d left the city until his landlord called me to clear out the place.”

The room was completely silent. Rohrbach felt a chill go down her spine as she realized what had happened. “You mean you didn’t _know?”_

Wayne wasn’t an emotional man by any means, but the way he sat back, and the incremental widening of his eyes – “You _didn’t_ know. You–! _How are you this bad at your job?!”_ Rohrbach leapt to her feet and whirled, taking in the sea of horrified faces. “ _None_ of you knew! You– Christ on a _cracker,_ this explains _so much_ about how Grayson behaves.” She made a noise like a spitting cat. “I’d have gotten more information just filing the missing persons report myself!”

“Missing persons report?” That was Damian, staring up at Rohrbach with _fear_ on that young face, knuckles tight on the handle of his sword. “How long has he been gone?”

Rohrbach took a deep breath. _Do not scream at the twelve-year-old,_ she reminded herself. “Six weeks.”

Behind her, there was a thump. Rohrbach turned to see that Mr. Pennyworth had sat down hard, hands shaking. “I knew something was wrong when he stopped answering my calls,” the old man admitted. “He called me almost six weeks ago to the day. He seemed as if… he wanted to come home but thought he couldn’t. I should have asked…” He pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket and dabbed at his eyes. “I… forgive me, this is quite unbecoming…”

Wayne rallied, leaning forward to place a hand on his butler’s – father’s? – knee. “We’ll find him, Alfred,” the man said with uncharacteristic gentleness. “We’ll find out what happened. Jason,” he snapped back into Batman’s growl.

“Yeah?”

“Take Damian and see what you can get out of Bludhaven’s gangs.” That got the pair glaring at each other, but Wayne had already moved on. “Barbara–”

“Running searches for all aliases we’re familiar with.” The woman was already working; her laptop screen reflected eerily in her eyes. “We’ll all be alerted to any hits.”

“Excellent. Stephanie, Cassandra, go to S–” Wayne cut a look to Rohrbach and changed what he was going to say. “Catwoman and see if there’s any word in the Rogues Gallery.”

“Aye aye, captain!” Brown threw him a sloppy salute and immediately turned to the dark-haired Cain to start strategizing in what Rohrbach was fairly sure was ASL.

“Tim, you have the best relationship with Dick’s generation of heroes. See if any of them have seen him in the past six weeks.” Drake gave a quick nod, already tapping at his phone. “I’m going to speak to the League–”

“Hold up,” Rohrbach said before she could start to freak out of the fact that Wayne had just mentioned talking to the _Justice League_ like he was going out for coffee. “Someone needs to help me clear out the apartment.”

Wayne waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll pay the rent.”

“He left a bunch of packages with peoples’ names on them and I ain’t touching them until I know they’re not bombs,” Rohrbach snapped.

There was a moment of silence, and then Drake stood. “If you drive, I can text the old Titans in the car.” He paused. “There is something left for me, right?”

“The biggest package.”

“Ominous. Let me grab my kit.”


	4. A third event to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Pru begin their plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIND THE TAGS. The "Depression", "Suicidal Thoughts", "Suicide Attempt", and "Intrusive Thoughts" tags ALL APPLY HERE. BE CAREFUL.
> 
> Yes I am evil. Thank you for asking.

_Six weeks ago_

Dick leaned against the rough brick of the building, watching the sun rise over Bludhaven. It was a rare clear morning, and the long lines of concrete tenements were gilded golden and rosy with light. In terms of ways to say goodbye to the city, there were worse. A lot worse. Even as the brick scraped at his bare shoulder, and the chill of the early morning bit through his thin undershirt, he was glad. He wanted to remember Bludhaven at her best.

He hoped Nightwing wouldn’t die with him. Bludhaven didn’t deserve that.

“Done being sentimental, bird boy?” Pru asked. She’d watched the sunrise in silence with him, respecting that he needed this time. “Having second thoughts?”

“Plenty, but not enough to stop me.” Dick stood, rubbing warmth back into his shoulder. Concrete was _cold._ “Let’s get this done.”

“Family texted you back yet?”

“If they had, we probably wouldn’t be here, and you’d be explaining another failure to Ra’s,” Dick snapped. He was _tired._ Tired of worrying that someone would look into his silence for the past two weeks, discover the plan, and try to stop him. Tired of worrying that they wouldn’t. That they wouldn’t care enough to.

Pru pulled back at the implied threat. “No need to be bloody rude,” she hissed. “I was just being polite.”

“No, you weren’t. I want this over with.” Dick strode to the edge of the rooftop, taking one last breath, one last moment in the perfect sunlight —

And flipped over the edge, diving through his open apartment window with the ease of long practice. He smirked at Pru’s yelp. “Showoff!” she swore.

Dick laughed. It felt like the first time he’d laughed in ages. The sound was strange in his throat, the shape of it awkward.

He gazed around his dark apartment while Pru scrambled down the wall and in the window behind him. He’d never really decorated it — he’d moved too often with Haley’s, and then again switching between Bludhaven and the Titans and Gotham. There had barely been a handful of pictures on the walls, or blankets on the couch. But now, everything was packed away, in boxes labeled with various names. Clothes and blankets and the little bit of food he hadn’t eaten were set to go to Goodwill, pictures and the rare sentimental item were set to go to family. There was an envelope for Amy with his will, leaving his trust fund to her. Bruce would make sure that the rest of the family was taken care of, but Amy could use the cushion.

Everything was in order. The Bats weren’t likely to check in for… ever, if the last two weeks were any indication. He’d closed all his cases or passed them on to members of the old Titans. Told the Titans he’d be out of contact for a while, at least a month, no end date given. Set up Nightwing’s Nest with all his gear stowed where it was easy to find and his files encrypted but neatly organized so Bruce or Tim could work through them. He’d even left instructions for what to do with the stuff he left at the Manor.

Everything was taken care of. No more stalling.

Behind him, Pru was casually blocking the window. Her minions were on all the other windows and doors. How many times did he have to say it? “I’m not backing out, guys.”

“You’ll just have to forgive us for being careful.” Pru slid off the windowsill — there were going to be footprints, but that wasn’t Dick’s problem anymore, at least.

The idea that none of it, not Nightwing, not his family, not the BPD, not any of the hundreds of responsibilities he’d been handling for as long as he could remember, was his problem anymore, was incredibly freeing.

“So, you said you had a plan for this part, Boy Wonder,” Pru said. There was a calculating edge to her voice. “What is it?”

“One sec.” Dick pulled an old hand towel from one of the donation bins and dropped it on the kitchen table. Then he ducked into the bathroom.

Everything in here had been cleared as well, not that there had been much in the first place. Everything, except the one thing that he had hidden so well, he knew the League hadn’t been able to find it.

After all, he’d had to hide it from the Bats, as well.

Item in hand, Dick returned to the main room. Pru stared openly at it, then at him, then the towel. Then the item again. “Is that a _sodding straight razor?”_

“Yep,” Dick said grimly. “Bruce’s, actually. He used to use it every morning.” Dick sat at the table, turning the razor to inspect the delicate mother-of-pearl inlay on the rosewood handle. He taught me to shave with this, you know.”

“He give it to you? I thought you’d have boxed it up to go back to him, then.” Pru was leaning forward now, invested in this story. Unbidden, it occurred to him that it would be so easy for him to flick the razor open and sever Pru’s jugular. Or his own. He’d kept the razor sharp; it would barely hurt at all.

 _No._ He shoved that thought into a box at the back of his mind, where he pushed everything he didn’t want to think about. He was doing this for his family. He was doing this for his brothers. He _could not_ hurt Pru. Not until everything was over.

Instead, he flicked it open, studying the miniscule thickness of the blade’s edge. He watched light from the rising sun through the window glint off the bevel. “I took it from his bathroom while he was busy being dead. Thought about opening my wrists with it… probably once every day or two? But. Damian needed me.” Dick looked up, the spine of the razor tucked between two fingers. “He’s got Bruce, now.”

Pru sucked in a breath. “How many of them know?”

“Alfred. Barbara. Damian might suspect.” This was going to hurt them. Dick knew it.

But the alternative would hurt them _so much worse._ This was the only option. Dick laid the towel out on the table and put his arm over it, palm up. In the other, he held the razor open. He looked up at Pru for confirmation.

She nodded.

Dick brought the razor down.


	5. So huge, so hopeless to conceive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim looks over Dick's apartment and opens his package.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haplogroup H-M82 is a common genetic marker among Romani, especially Balkan Romani.

_Present Day_

Tim set one foot into Dick's apartment and swore softly under his breath. The dust was so heavy in the air, he could practically taste it. "No one's been in here for at least a month. Maybe longer."

"That's what I was afraid of." Detective Rohrbach was half-tucked behind him, one hand on her standard issue Glock. "I should have checked in on him."

"We can play the blame game later. We need to figure out where he went." Tim scanned the dark apartment with practiced eyes. The thick layer of dust covering every surface was undisturbed. Either no one had been here in weeks, or someone had gone to a lot of time and effort to make it _look_ like the place had been left empty. The apartment had been stripped entirely bare except for the packages Detective Rohrbach had described. Roughly half were labeled with "Goodwill" but the rest…

The rest had family's names on them. There was one for everyone, even Steph and Kate. And one for Detective Rohrbach, Tim noted, even if that one was just an envelope "He's not planning on coming back."

Rohrbach sucked in a breath. "I was hoping I was wrong."

Tim edged inside, scanning for anything out of place. No motion or heat sensors on the door or windows, no tripwires where an errant step would alert watchers. Either Dick had left of his own volition, or whoever had taken him didn’t care to know exactly when his family discovered he was gone. Tim dug his bomb sniffer — affectionately named Clifford — out of his bag and started going over the donations first.

Rohrbach frowned. "Is. Is that a bright red bomb sensor?"

"I was fourteen," Tim said through gritted teeth. All of the Goodwill bags were clear. "And I like red."

"That doesn’t explain the Clifford sticker."

Tim sighed. "Its name is Clifford."

"Its name is _what."_

"It's red and it smells things, so its name is Clifford, okay?" The rest of the packages were clear, except for Rohrbach’s envelope, and if there was something in there that could take him out, they were all so very, very screwed anyway.

Rohrbach snorted, and then she was laughing so hard that she had to lean against the kitchen table to catch her breath.

And then she abruptly _wasn't_ laughing. She swore violently, shifting an errand hand towel to reveal a dried pool of reddish brown beneath it. "Tell me that's not blood," she whispered. "Mary, Jesus, and Joseph, please tell me that’s not his blood."

Tim pulled out the forensic sequencer, jaw set. He didn't try to reassure Rohrbach. They both knew it was most likely Dick’s blood. He scraped a couple flakes of it into the sequencer and frowned at the towel while it whirred. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think all Dick’s towels were light blue."

Rohrbach frowned at the now distinctly dark brown towel. "That's not good."

"No, it's not." The sequencer beeped. Tim held out the readout for Rohrbach to see.

** DATABASE MATCH: NIGHTWING H-M82 **

"Well." She didn’t seem to know what to say to that. "Fuck."

"Pretty much." Tim snapped photos of the table. Maybe someone would be able to spot something that he and Rohrbach hadn't.

Or maybe just looking through the lens would help him see more clearly, the way it often did. Buried in the terrycloth, also covered in blood, was something with a smooth, angular surface. Tim fished it out carefully, wiping at the dried blood with an alcohol wipe.

When he realized what it was, he fumbled, nearly chopping one of his own fingers off in the process of dropping it. He sank into the rickety chair, staring at the table. Rohrbach grabbed his shoulder. She glared at the weapon like it might jump up and bite her. "What is it?"

It took Tim several moments to find his voice. "It's Bruce's."

"What?" Rohrbach sounded confused. Tim didn’t blame her. He doubted it would make sense to anyone who hadn’t lived in Wayne Manor, where Bruce was liable to wander around in the morning half-shaved, razor still in hand, in search of coffee. Tim would recognize the delicate mother-of-pearl inlay and the faint scent of cedar and rosemary aftershave anywhere. Even covered in blood.

"The razor. It's Bruce's. Dick, he…" the words, the most likely scenario, wouldn’t leave Tim's mouth no matter what he did. "He, he… with _Bruce’s straight razor."_

Rohrbach gulped as she took in the implications of that. "Wayne's not going to take that well, is he?"

"You _can't_ tell him." Tim yanked Rohrbach's head around to look at him. "You _can't._ If Bruce knows that Dick used something of his to – to hurt himself, it'll destroy him. You _can't tell him."_

Rohrbach took a deep, calming breath. "I won't," she promised. "But unless you want to throw something worth more than my car payments away, you're going to have to figure out something else to tell him."

Tim scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "I will. I'll figure out… something. Maybe stick it in his package?"

"You planning on opening yours?" Rohrbach eyed the large cardboard box with Tim's name on it.

"I… guess I should." Tim caught the box as she slid it over to him and pulled the unmarked envelope off the side.

The letter was several sheets long, written on notebook paper in dark blue pen. It was definitely Dick's handwriting – most of the Bats added extra complications to their handwriting to make it harder to forge, and the weird little tail loop on half of Dick's a's and d's was really hard to fake. To Rohrbach's eyes, it probably looked like gibberish, but Tim had been trained in cryptography by Batman. At second glance, half the reason it was so easy to read was because it was in one of their favorite ciphers — a Vignere, using _superman_ as the keyword. Dick had thought the idea was funny. Every so often, the ink was blurred by water drops. Tears? Had Dick been crying?

Tim shook his head and settled in to read.

> _Tim—_
> 
> _I'm sorry for leaving. I know you're angry at me, and you have a right to be, but even if you never want to see me again, that's not the same as me leaving you, I know. So I'm sorry, but I had to do this._
> 
> _I can't apologize for taking Robin away from you. I'm sorry, but I can't. If Damian hadn't had something to tie him to us, he'd have gone running straight back to Ra's and Talia, and he'd be dead or worse by now. Damian needed to feel like we needed him._
> 
> _I can apologize for not talking to you first. I remember how much it hurt when Bruce fired me from being Robin. I never wanted anyone else to go through that, and I made you go through it. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking, but that’s no excuse._
> 
> _I want you to know that it didn't have anything to do with your ability. You were a_ great _Robin, Tim. I would have loved for you to be my Robin, too._
> 
> _I can also apologize for not believing you about Bruce being alive. You were right. I was wrong. I should have believed you, supported you. Instead, I used your grief to excuse what I did with my own. I know sorry isn't good enough to excuse what I did, but that and what I've got in the package are all I have to give you._
> 
> _I love you, baby brother. No matter how angry we are at each other, I'll always love you._
> 
> _—Richard John Grayson_

Tim carefully folded up the letter and tucked it back into the envelope. Later, he'd take it back to the Cave and run forensic scans on everything from the ink to the tearstains to the background of the paper manufacturer. Later, when things weren't quite so — raw. For now — what the hell could be in the box, that Dick thought might be an apology? Tim swiped away something that was definitely _not_ a tear, and if Rohrbach ever said otherwise she was a liar, and grabbed the package again. It was the work of a moment to slit the packing tape with a batarang. Tim shredded the tissue paper carelessly, desperate to see what Dick had left for him.

The first item he came up with was a long, oblong picture frame, the kind meant to hold sets of related pictures. There were three, arranged in chronological order from left to right. A faded image of John and Mary Grayson, coaching an elementary-school-sized Dick through balancing on a tightrope strung across the kitchen of their trailer. A copy of Tim's prized photo, his three-year-old self seated on Dick's lap with John and Mary behind them, dressed in full Flying Graysons splendor. And the last—

It wasn't a good picture. Honestly, it wasn't a _picture_ at all, just a still taken from the Cave's security footage. But it showed Bruce and Dick helping guide a younger Tim through the gymnastics course. The point Dick was trying to make was clear. _Little brother,_ he had said in the letter.

Tim quickly wiped a tear off the glass.

The box wasn't empty yet. Tim set the frame aside to think about later. The next item took up more than half the package, wrapped tightly in tissue paper, with a small piece of notebook paper folded and taped to the top. Tim ripped off the note. This one wasn't even encoded.

> _I planned to give this to you after I gave Robin to Damian, but you stormed out. You don't have to use it, but I'd appreciate it if you did._
> 
> _—Dick_

Tim shredded the last of the tissue paper — and fell back in the chair. He felt like he'd been stabbed in the chest. Behind him, Rohrbach gasped.

A blue-on-black bird design stared up accusingly at him.

Dick had given Tim Nightwing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Me banging pots and pans together outside the house of the DC writers who decided to make Tim Red Robin* THERE'S A PERFECTLY GOOD AND RESPECTABLE VIGILANTE MASK OPEN RIGHT NOW! MAKE TIM NIGHTWING TO DICK'S BATMAN YOU COWARDS!!!


End file.
